#meshrefet

I watched my grandmother weave She’d sit on the concrete Her henna covered soles Pressing down on the plaited la­­­­­kha reeds Smooth beneath her foot

I watched her weave her story With patience, precision the wit of a woman Her fingers tangled in the loose ends Leading them in and out of each other

I would try to keep up She would whisper in my mother tongue, ghes beli - don’t rush Then share with me wisdom from our history She, illiterate Only had her memories And what her own hands could conceive

I watched her weave ­­­­ Tales of contentment and longing defeat and glory Seeped into the braided reeds

I watched her weave ­­­­ With absolute conviction That my own roots were captured in these interwoven contradictions